


The Totally Mild and Not-at-All Serious Allergies That are in No Way Actually a Villainous Plot to Bring Gotham to its Knees

by ScribeOfRemedy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Allergies But Not Really, Bruce Wayne Tries, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce is a Closet Hugger, Gen, Jason Sickfic, Jason is onto Him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfRemedy/pseuds/ScribeOfRemedy
Summary: Jason is allergic to people.It’s starting to become a problem.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 219





	The Totally Mild and Not-at-All Serious Allergies That are in No Way Actually a Villainous Plot to Bring Gotham to its Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Here I was, just trying to vent some harmless Jason + allergy feels. Then somehow this mess happened instead, so clearly my self-control has fled to whatever lonely corner of the universe Jason’s has been hiding out in for the majority of his life.  
> Want to give a quick shout out to [ScribeOfRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfRED/pseuds/ScribeOfRED) for doing an amazing job betaing. Thank you for all the commas.  
> Just a few quick heads-up: I am by no means a medical expert, so please don’t take the health information presented here too seriously, as this story is meant solely for entertainment and I’m just doing the best I can looking up stuff on the internet. That being said, I started this story before the world hit the fan with COVID-19, and I don’t intend anything here to be insensitive to the problems we are all facing with the pandemic but want to give fair warning that there is an outbreak involved in the story.  
> Lastly, this is my fist Batfam/DC fic, so finger crossed nobody seems too OOC.  
> Okay, I think that just about covers everything, so please enjoy!

Jason is allergic to people.

It’s starting to become a problem.

Especially when he’s forced to suffer through a visit to the manor—where there are people.

Jason sniffles miserably as his nose continues to rebel, wishing the non-drowsy allergy medication he forced down earlier would hurry up and do something about the literal river of snot that’s trying to escape. He’s even bought some of that fancy twenty-four-hour stuff but with zero results thus far, much like his usual channels for information. It really is a horrible time to be orchestrating a drug bust.

For not the first time, Jason silently curses the too-bright screen of the high-tech laptop propped open over his knees. Then, for good measure, he curses out the local gangs responsible for deciding to unleash a dangerous new narcotic on the scene smack-dab in the middle of prime allergy season. People are dropping comatose right and left in Crime Alley, and Jason needs to find the source of the hottest new substance before there are fatalities. A task that normally wouldn’t be too problematic except he’s starting to suspect this runs further up the food chain than the local mob bosses, which unfortunately means he has to suck it up and get what use he can out of the bats’ network. Because if one of the Rogues really is responsible then this won’t stop at Crime Alley or the Bowery.

So here he stays, holed up in one of the manor’s lesser-used studies with one of Tim’s spare, overly upgraded laptops, hoping an accurate analysis of the drug’s makeup will offer up a few leads. As it turns out, there’s some really unusual components he’s willing to bet don’t come listed on the packaging. He’s about to look further into the first item on his list, a rather questionable and unidentified spore, but an unexpected sneeze catches him off guard, sudden and explosive. Jason has to tilt his head back a moment before he can refocus on the blurry screen in front of his aching face. He struggles with the resulting tickle at the back of his throat—he is not about to do something as monumentally stupid as sneezing a second time. Thankfully the urge soon passes, and he’s free to sniffle loudly in his suffering.

The real annoying thing about all this is that he’s been perfectly fine before today—not so much as a sniffle all week. He’s been out working the streets for days, running down samples of the mystery drug he now knows as Discord and learning what he can about the symptoms. But just a few hours of research in a room with the Replacement and Demon Brat lurking about was apparently more than his poor sinuses could take.

So, naturally, Jason blames people… even if the Demon Brat hadn’t stuck around for long. He’s pretty sure the gremlin uttered something about the toxic levels of failure in the room after Jason had come back up from the batcave with his lab results, but he really doesn’t have the energy today to teach the kid some manners or, you know, basic human decency. Besides, he’s pretty sure that’s Dick’s job now. Heaven knows Bruce sucks at it.

Another sneeze propels him out of such thoughts with all the effectiveness of an emergency ejection from the batmobile. Ugh. Jason is so very over having a nose. The sniffling, the sneezing, the constant mucus production—yeah, he can do without. How much do you really need to be able to smell in Gotham anyway? The whole city stinks. The bad guys stink. Batman stinks. What more do you need to know?

Of course, there is a slightly more reasonable solution than amputating his nose like some Voldemort reject. A perfectly fine box of tissues is sitting out in plain sight over on the desk by the window—a sensible addition on Alfred’s part, no doubt. Jason just doesn’t feel like physically getting up to retrieve them himself. Moving is not exactly a picnic at the moment. He swears the air pressure inside his head shifts awkwardly every time he so much as stands. Not to mention the act of blowing his nose in the quiet room may dispel whatever tenuous illusion of peace he and the Replacement have got going on at the moment.

Tim has been sitting all prim and quiet like on the far side of the room, seemingly blocking out Jason’s sniffles along with the rest of the world while he goes to town on a tablet and his smart phone at the same time. And Jason’s not sure he wants to jeopardize that, even for temporary relief from his stupid allergies. Besides, he’s still got a ton of work to do. As long as he can ignore the problem, everyone else probably will too. Simple logic—or so he thinks.

Jason’s internal debate is interrupted by an object dropping down softly over the keys of the laptop. He stares dumbly at the box of tissues that has abruptly materialized between him and his screen, at war with himself over whether to make use of the unexpected kindness of not having to go get them himself or to just ignore them and sniffle louder out of spite—because rude! What, are his sniffles such an inconvenience the Replacement can’t nerd out in peace?

He sends a bleary glare back across the room where Tim is just returning to his seat, looking all innocent and smug. Presumptuous little twerp.

Luckily for Timbo, Damian appears at the doorway before Jason can decide on greater retribution than a scathing look. The brat gives the study a cursory sweep with that condescending quirk of his brow Jason swears he inherited straight from Bruce. “So, I see Todd is still contaminating the area with his shoddy immune system.”

“Hey, not like I’m the one who went and misplaced my spleen,” Jason grumbles before tacking on a quick, “And I’m not sick!” And he would have rolled his eyes for good measure if he wasn’t trying so hard not wince at how congested his voice just sounded.

To his mortification, now the Replacement _and_ Demon Brat are both giving him looks like he’s just informed them that Gotham is a nice, friendly, and wholly pleasant place to call home and also that Bruce is a closet huger—which Jason is about 82.7% sure is actually factual. And if they have picked up on his little ailment then it’s only a matter of time until he has one of the mother hens on his case. Dick and Bruce both nearly trip over themselves when they think one of their flock is even the slightest bit ill or injured: Dick out of some misguided sense of fulfilling his fantasy role as the model big brother figure to all of them, while Bruce’s attempts stem more out of his prevalent sense of guilt over all of their well-beings and the incessant need to regain control over every little hiccup that pops up in his life ever. If Jason doesn’t play his cards right, the little terrors will vindictively sic one or the other on him in a heartbeat—or worse, they’ll go snitch to Alfred.

Which is ridiculous and to be avoided at all costs because this is nothing, just totally mild and not-at-all serious allergies that are in no way condoning of smothering. So he plays it down, clearing his throat with only marginal success, as he ends up having to sniffle _again_. “What?”

After a beat Tim seems to snap out of whatever weird, in-sync stare off he’s got going on with the gremlin and tries for casual, but seeing as he’s not already lost to one of his portable screens, he misses his mark by about a mile. “You’re not planning on going out tonight… right, Jason?”

Crap. The munchkins can smell blood. Time for some damage control.

“Case isn’t gonna solve itself, baby bird,” Jason huffs out, deliberately turning his face back toward his own screen and ignoring the tissues like his life depends on it. He’s really banking on Tim’s Bruce-like obsessive nature working in his favor here. If there’s one thing neither of them can stand, it’s a job left unfinished. “Besides, sooner I blow this popsicle stand, the better.”

Damian seems to tsk approvingly at that last sentiment, but Tim is undeterred. “Come on, Jason, don’t be like that. Why not let one of us do the legwork for you?”

Yeah, that’s gonna be a big fat no. Just because they’re all sorta getting along right now doesn’t mean he’s okay with them butting in on his cases whenever they please. He’s a big boy now; he can kick ass and take names all on his lonesome, thank you very much.

But before he can tell Tim to buzz off, the unthinkable happens: that annoying tickle at the back of his throat comes back, only this time it’s a bit harder to ignore. He starts coughing before he can stop himself. And not just any coughing, the type of hacking cough that sounds like he maybe swallowed a cheese grater and then came back for a meat tenderizer as dessert. By the time it tapers off, Jason is panting pathetically.

He does his best to ignore Tim’s “I told you so” look that definitely doesn’t look nearly as concerned as he’s imagining it to be.

Granted, the cough is an unfortunate addition to his allergy symptoms that will be tough to keep under wraps even under his giant red helmet. All this sniffling and panting for breath really don’t mesh well with trying to intimidate scumbags into spilling their guts, which is a bit of a bummer—Jason has been very much looking forward to bashing in some heads tonight.

That doesn’t mean he’s given up, though, not even close. He just needs to pull it together long enough to finish his research and beat a hasty retreat before any of the smothering hens catch wind of this. Cough or not, he should be able to manage that much.

Then, to Jason’s horror, Dick sticks his head in. “Hey, guys, everything alright? I thought I heard coughing.”

Replacement and Demon Brat must really be on their synchronization game today because they both deftly point his direction without so much as a blink or ounce of hesitation. Dirty little traitors.

Dick immediately turns his overbearing, brotherly concern on him. “I came up here to get you guys. Bruce wants everyone in the cave, but if you’re coming down with something, Jason, maybe you should—”

And while Jason may have normally been more than a little chagrined at being expected to fall in line like all the other obedient little bat soldiers just because Bruce wants all hands on deck, like hell is he gonna be benched by a measly cough. And despite what any of these assholes think, none of them get a say. “Whatever you’re about to say, can it, Goldie. The only thing I’m coming down with is a case of disrespected boundaries. Let’s just go see what’s got the old man’s cape in a knot already.”

Dick’s aggrieved sigh is music to Jason’s ears. He snaps the laptop shut, knowing his search results on the unusual spores found in Discord’s makeup will still be there when he gets back. Ignoring a brief spell of lightheadedness, most likely for getting up out of his chair too fast, he takes in after the others down to the cave.

Bruce is already waiting on them, naturally, suited up save for his cowl and sporting his ever-present, hard-lined frown of disapproval. He keeps his back to them as he brings multiple statistics up on the batcomputer monitors. “We’ve got an outbreak on our hands.”

And, well, that is decidedly not good. The news even makes Timmy don his own serious little scowl. “Exactly how bad are we talking?”

“Oracle,” Bruce all but grunts, because the answer to that question is clearly well above Bruce’s distinguishable word quota for the week.

Bab’s modulated voice comes over the batcomputer’s speakers. _“The epicenter seems to be the hospitals and clinics surrounding Crime Alley and the Bowery. But they’ve quickly become overrun. A backlog of patients have been transferred to almost all major medical facilities in Gotham, and whatever they’ve got, it’s spreading fast.”_

Huh, that’s a strange coincidence, Jason thinks, already trying to gauge the probability that his drug problem is somehow connected to this fiasco as well. He doesn’t give voice to this little theory yet, as he’s still trying to get his breath back after climbing all the way down here, and he’s not too keen to let on. Because really, that’s just embarrassing. Since when have allergies left him this run down and achy?

“Symptoms?” Dick presses.

“ _According to our sources, most victims have_ _c_ _ited experiencing the warning signs of a bad cold or even mistaken the illness for a case of allergies turned viral. Runny nose, shortness of breath, fatigue, and muscle soreness are all common symptoms for the early stages of the disease. They then rapidly progress to severe coughs, fever, and delirium, with a few reported cases of pneumonia.”_

Jason shivers. Why is that sounding familiar all of a sudden?

“We’ll need to set up some sort of quarantine, stop the spread until we can get a handle on what’s causing this,” Tim mutters aloud.

“ _Already working on shutting down exits from the city. But it’s going to take time…”_

More is said, with possible short-term fixes shot back and forth, but mostly the chatter’s centered around containment and the likely suspects. Bruce gets gruffer and antsy in that way he does when they don’t have any solid leads. But then again it’s not like any of the Gotham Rogues specialize in releasing plagues on the populace—or at least none that Jason knows of. Of course, there is a not insignificant chunk of time he missed out on of the daily grind of stomping out Gotham’s assorted megalomaniacs. Maybe some germ-spreading newbie cropped up in his absence. But what would some moron like that even call themselves? The Contagion? Man-Flu? Lady Phlegm… Venom?

Dick speaks up suddenly over the din of logistics and medical jargon. “Know anything about this, Hood? Crime Alley and the Bowery are your usual MO.”

Jason blinks, unsure at what point he apparently zoned out during the middle of an emergency briefing. He’s pretty sure there’s a reason he should be paying attention to that. Ugh. Why is it so hard to focus? For that matter, why are there distracting little spots dancing the Texas two-step in front of his face? That’s just uncalled for.

Idly, he wishes for his helmet. It’d probably help with the spots, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about breathing in anything funny. Can’t be too careful with the likes of Man-Flu on the loose. Besides, and maybe it’s just him, but the air seems just a little too thin down here. It’s damp and stale too, almost like when chilled rain seeps down into the soil, moist and cloying, blocking him off from the surface. Jason can still feel the mud in his eyes, trapped under his nail beds—lodged in his throat. He coughs, trying to clear his airway. And coughs again when that doesn’t seem to do anything. And then he just can’t seem to stop.

“Jason?”

Crap, looks like the others may have noticed his little episode. To be fair, it isn’t like he can cough up a lung quietly.

“Leab meh ’lone. ’m fine.” Jason is vaguely aware his words are slurring. But that seems less important at the moment than figuring out how to get more air.

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder. Possibly Dick. Maybe Cass. She’s always the hardest to sense coming. Though Jason thinks the hand might be too big to be hers. It’s also searingly warm, and he can’t help the full-body shiver that runs through him at the contact. Unbidden, he clutches at that hand tight. It seems to help push back against the phantom panic roaring at the back of his throat, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s doing more to keep him upright than his own two feet because the room is sorta spinning now.

“Breathe with me, Jay.”

The words are rumbling and nostalgic in a way that throws Jason more off balance than he already is. There are more words, shouts even, but none of them really register.

He’s pretty sure he feels a sharp prick in his arm at some point, but he can’t really be sure. The discomfort strangely falls away after that…

* * *

Jason awakes with a start—certain that if he remains still and dumb to the world and oh so condemningly _vulnerable_ another second that it’ll be his last. And he’s really not up for dying a second time so soon.

Moving doesn’t go according to plan. He’s uncoordinated and bone tired but he must manage something because before he’s entirely aware of what’s happening he’s the one being moved, propped up and encircled in warmth. The new elevation siphons away some of the adrenaline and helps him breathe a bit easier.

Other factors start to register as he settles. He’s not just encircled in warmth, _he’s_ warm, almost uncomfortably so. There’s no annoying crick in his neck that tells of sleeping on one of the many subpar mattresses or even the occasional aging pullout he keeps on hand at his safe houses, but he can feel the hard-edged corner of a case-bound book digging in to the back of his right thigh.

It’s also dark. And he slowly comes to realize his sweat-streaked face is being pressed into something or, more accurately, someone. Based on their relative size, it doesn’t take rocket science to figure out who.

“Called it,” he mutters almost inaudibly against the fabric of Bruce’s sweater, but it’s more than enough to get the man’s attention.

“Jason, are you awake?”

Jason does his best to ignore the hopeful edge in that question. “Shu’d get off, ’m allergic ta people.”

“You’re not allergic to people, Jay,” Bruce’s says, but he ends the hug soon afterwards anyway. By the time he’s sitting in the chair pulled aside the bed, he’s mostly wiped the amusement off his face. It’s still annoying.

Jason scowls. “It’s this place, then. Being around you people compromises my immune system.”

Bruce doesn’t rise to the bait. “Do you remember what happened?”

Did he? He knows he came here to research the new drug on the streets, run some tests. The little terrors had been there too. Then Dick had rounded them all up for a bat family powwow… Oh yeah, he’d passed out during the briefing. _Great_. That’s gonna be fun to live down. “More or less.”

Bruce dutifully begins filling in the blanks. “After we confirmed that your symptoms matched those of the outbreak victims, we looked into what you’d been working on and discovered that the drug Discord was related. Luckily you had already starting testing for us. Turns out the spores found in the drug were releasing highly contagious mycotoxins, turning users into carriers. You likely contracted it either through dealing with the samples or coming into contact with the drug victims. The spores didn’t match any known species, but we were able to link its creation to Poison Ivy. Turns out the drug was named Discord after the Apple of Discord of Greek mythology.”

Jason huffs. “Not one of her better ones.”

“Maybe. But it still caused a city-wide pandemic,” Bruce points out.

And Jason maybe can see how the latest plant-themed scheme to bring Gotham to its knees had been so successful. Tricking the city’s own druggies into spreading the disease had obviously paid off. When they eventually fell into a comatose state, people would first assume substance abuse and be completely unprepared for a viral contagion.

Also explains why his symptoms hadn’t shown up in earnest until he’d reached the manor. He’d likely had the drug samples on his person for more than long enough for the incubation process to complete. Speaking of which… “So I suppose my being alive and not feeling like total crap means you guys made a cure.”

Bruce nods. “We were able to synthesis a successful vaccine yesterday. We’re still working at clearing out all traces of Discord from Gotham’s black market, but since the media release about it being the source of the outbreak, most dealers aren’t putting up much of a fight.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine they’ve got many buyers lining up to get high off the stuff anymore.” Which is a relief. Just goes to show even Crime Alley mob bosses can have an ounce of sense between them as long as their bottom dollar is threatened. Though something else is bugging Jason now. “How long have I been out?”

“Almost 42 hours,” Bruce answers immediately, like he’s got the number memorized or something. “How are you feeling?”

A bit like he’s been run over by the batmobile, if he’s being honest, but only mildly and not by the ridiculous tank version either—just by one of the smaller, less pointy models that actually still sorta resemble cars. All things considered, not too horrible, so he settles on, “Tired.”

Bruce hums, the sound oddly soothing coming from him. “That’s to be expected. It would be best if you got some more rest anyway.” And then Bruce hesitates just a moment before, “You know you’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

The offer is more tempting that Jason’s willing to admit, but he’s already been off the streets for nearly three days. It’s time he gets back in the game. “And suffer through more of this family’s company? Thanks, but think I’ll pass. Besides, need to get back out there. Crime Alley’s probably more of a mess than usual now.”

Bruce nods along, oddly vacant of the expected disappointment. “In that case, Alfred requested I pass along a message.”

And, well, that doesn’t bode well by any stretch of the imagination.

“He wishes you to know that he will be very disappointed should you leave without speaking with him first.” Which is really just Alfred code for “he isn’t leaving at all until the butler has his chance to fuss and is otherwise completely satisfied with his state of health.”

It’s low, even for Bruce, to use Alfred against him like this. It’s also effective. “Fine, whatever,” Jason grumbles, already plotting vengeance.

If nothing else, his forced captivity should give him plenty of time to come with all sorts of ways to wipe that smug grin off Bruce’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t disappoint Alfred. Stay safe and healthy out there.  
> Also, if you have the time and enjoyed the story I’d love to hear from you in the comments section.


End file.
